Tuesday, April 10, 2007

SPRINGTIME

Never mind that Bradford pears in bloom smell like ass. Never mind that the combined Pollen Count of all of these Spring Blooming Plants results in a radioactive, glowing, yellowish-green cloud that sends grizzled veterans of World War I mustard gas attacks scurrying for their masks, while coating every outdoor object in a carpet-like layer of ochre spooge. Never mind that, after weeks of blossomy aftereffects, I feel as though I need a lung transplant.

I look around at Georgia in springtime, and it’s worth every hack and sneeze.

[Click to embiggen.]

Of course, there is a certain amount of unpredictability. The azalea blossoms you see here were photographed just before a major cold snap rolled in, bringing temperatures down to below freezing. They don’t look quite as spiffy today, alas.

But that’s springtime. Ephemeral: here today, gone tomorrow, with the blossoms replaced by leaves and the crisp mornings replaced by steamy afternoons. I wouldn’t have it any other way.